Clouding of the senses
by 1WolfBlade
Summary: So he parts his chapped lips and forces out a whisper, "Stay."


**A/N: Review. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. Okay, on to the story.**

* * *

Damian pants as he struggles to do more chin-ups. With every strain, the edges of his vision turn darker and he finds himself unable to focus. He knows why he pushes his limits all the time, why he hardly ever does anything but train anymore.

His Father is becoming overly concerned and Drake thinks that he, Damian, is insane. But he knows that Todd undertands, however little.

In his fatigued and delirious state, he sees a figure, bright and blinding, breaking through the dark haze. Vivid blue eyes stare into his own steely blue, and Damian feels a broken laugh bubble in his throat and he knows he's about to start crying.

"You shouldn't do that too often, Lil' D. It's not good for you."

His voice is just as Damian remembers: concerned, worried and loving. It makes him want to break down and scream. Scream until his throat is raw. Scream until he can't hear himself anymore. But in his weakened state, he can't. He's crumpled on the ground, the figure standing over him, smiling but worried.

So he parts his chapped lips and forces out a whisper, "Stay."

Water wells up in his brother's eyes (_Can the dead cry?_ Damian wonders absently) and he feels a feathery touch on his forehead. His brother is pushing his hair from his sweat-beaded forehead, giving him the look that he positively hates. The look which conveys sorrow, regret and longing and it rips Damian apart because he knows that Dick is never coming back, never going to hug him and ruffle his hair and never going to laugh again.

"Oh Damian," Dick whispers, looking pained. "I'm always here," and he pats Damian's chest, right where his heart is still thumping frantically from his earlier exertion. "I'm always here," he repeats.

Damian really wants to scream now. His heart is twisting, and he hurt everywhere. Dick is fading, and his hand shoots towards him, but grasps thin air instead. He's crying now, yelling desperately as Dick fades into oblivion. He's screaming that he'll do anything, anything at all, that will bring Dick back, screaming and screaming that he'd do anything to go back in time and jump in front of Dick and die at the hands of those assasins, if it means that Dick will be alive, and that his Father would not be so distraught as to bury himself in his work; that Todd would not be drinking himself to stupor every night; that Drake will not become as cold as to kill and maim.

But Dick gives him a small, sad smile and kisses his forehead lightly. "I'm always here," he says for the last time as his voice fades away too.

And Damian is left screaming hysterically on the gym floormats, eyes unfocussed and pulling on his hair. He dimly registers the syringe his Father plunges into his arm, and blackness takes over.

* * *

He's curled up in a couch when he wakes, and he turns his head curiously when he feels a warm and lean body against his small frame. Dick is smiling at him, running a hand through his hair. Leaning into the touch, he allows his brother to lull him back to sleep, but he starts suddenly when he realises-

"You're dead."

His voice is flat, but the words are forced. Dick smiles at him and says lightly, "I am."

"Am I dead too?" Damian asks hopefully.

Dick frowns at him, and shakes his head. "Sorry Lil' D. Not happening."

Damian's flicker of hope crushes itself into a million tinier, miniscule pieces. For a small, glorious moment, he had imagined flying by his brother's side, only to have tugged away under his feet, much like the way Todd had yanked a rug from under his feet once.

The sense of his heart soaring briefly and crashing causes a hitch in his breathing, and Dick notices. "Damian," he says gently, "you've got to open up a little more. Give Bruce, Jason and Tim, heck, even Steph, a chance. You can't just brood and mope about all day. You'll be like a mini-Bruce, and one Bruce is enough for everyone to do deal with."

Damian scoffs. The silence stretches for a while, but it's comfortable and Damian doesn't mind, not when Dick is combing through his hair and the fireplace is cackling merrily and makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He leans into the touch almost subconsciously.

"Dick?" He hates how his voice is so pained and quiet, like a child plaintively seeking an answer.

"Hmm?" his brother hums in reply.

"Why can't you... come back?" When Dick opens his mouth to answer, Damian cuts his off quickly, "I mean, I could ask Mother if I could borrow a Lazarus Pit, and if she refuses, I could always ask Green Lantern to-"

"Damian," Dick says warningly. "You know I can't do that. And yes, the Pit would be a good plan, but you're missing the point here, D. I don't want to go back."

And that reply shocks Damian to the very core; his mouth is gaping and his eyes glaze over. "Why?" he asks, his voice trembling.

"I don't belong there anymore. People have moved on, _I've_ moved on. And I'm human, Lil' D. I can't keep coming back the way Clark does. Or Donna. Or Hal. It's just not right. And if I come back, what's to say I wouldn't be gone the next day? What happens then? Will Bruce, Jay and Tim depend on me to pop up again? I'm human, Dami. I can't keep doing that."

Damian opens his mouth to protest, but his voice dies in his throat. Dick's right, and he can't refute what his older brother said. Because if Dick comes back, he knows he won't live to ripe old age and retire happily anyway; fighting crime was too taxing of a lifestyle, and Dick, who was _human_ with no superpowers whatsoever, no several extra lives, no power ring…

And dimly, he realises where Dick was coming from the whole time: If Dick comes back, who was to say that he wouldn't the second time? Or the third? Or maybe the fourth? But that was probably as many as he got before he inevitably would _not_. The value of his life would degrade. They- Damian himself, Father, Drake and even Todd- would be clouded to believe Dick immortal, a _constant_ in their lives. And in their line of work, the reliability would be- well, a liability. And Dick could not- _would not_- bear to put them in danger.

Tears gathered in Dick's eyes as the fireplace is reduced to embers, and the warmth slowly ebbs away, leaving Damian cold and numb. Dick is fading again, and Damian is shouting frantically, grabbing at his brother's hazy form. Brushing some of his hair away, Dick presses his chapped lips on Damian forehead and hugs him for the last time before fading away and leaving Damian cold, _so cold_-

The cold jolts him awake, gasping and dry-heaving. There's no food in his stomach for him to retch, and he vaguely realises that the last time he ate was ages ago. Alfred is pushing him down, looking worried and wearied.

"Master Damian, I'm afraid you are not allowed to leave bed-rest."

Damian blinks again, and the couch and fireplace is gone, and he's in the infirmary in the Cave. He's staring at the stalactites, but a moment later, a mop of dark messy hair is clouding his vision, and-

_"What were you fucking thinking?" _Drake hisses into his ear, although he doesn't sound as angry as he sounds relieved. His arms is encircled around Damian's lithe frame, pulling him into an embrace. It's fierce and desperate, as though Damian would disappear the second Drake lets go. Tt. As if.

But the hug feels nice and safe, like how Dick does them, and Damian allows himself to relax a little. And a larger, more muscular frame is enveloping the two of them; Damian catches a flash of ginger hair and allows himself to smile a little. He can almost imagine a third figure smiling encircling his arms around the three brothers and whispering, _"I'm always there."_

And no one notices the quiet _click_ of a camera.


End file.
